


Human Race

by Heather_Night



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dead Allison Argent, Dead Sheriff Stilinski, Future Fic, Hurt Stiles, Light Bondage, M/M, Medication, POV Chris Argent, POV Stiles, Werejaguar Kate Argent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 19:29:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7726888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heather_Night/pseuds/Heather_Night
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris and Stiles have a somewhat complicated past but when Chris checks on Stiles as a favor to Scott, a blast from the past collides with both men in a big way, changing the course of their relationship forever.  Canon compliant through Season 3 only.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Human Race

**Author's Note:**

> I think this qualifies as a rarepair fic--my first in this fandom. I have some others up my sleeve for my Hurt/Comfort Bingo blackout efforts but this seemed like a good time to add to my Sterek and Gen resume.

Human Race

_Started with a kick and a punch_  
A claw to the face  
And I was in the race  
(I was in the race)  
Yeah, yeah  
You know it's hard sometimes  
Being humankind  
Keeping up with the pace  
(Keeping up with the pace)  
Yeah, yeah  
I'm sick of running  
(Sick of running)  
(Sick of running)  
The Human Race  
(The Human Race) 

\- _Human Race_ by Three Days Grace

 

Chris sat on the comfortable bench seat at a table, content to nurse the bourbon that he’d ordered at the bar, while enjoying the spectacular view. The floor to ceiling windows perfectly framed the waves sparkling under the moonlight, their power both savage and beautiful as they pounded the shore.

A young man, skin as pale as his white dress shirt, approached the table. “Good evening, my name is Stiles and I’ll be your server tonight. Our specials tonight are…”

Chris ignored the spiel, eyes busy drinking in the sight before him. Despite being the same height as Chris, which was just shy of 6-feet, Stiles always seemed shorter. Slighter. Some would call him slender or lanky. Chris suspected the kid—no, he was a man now—was underweight. 

Stiles still hadn’t looked up although he came close when he pushed the dark framed glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose. The black frames certainly didn’t detract from his striking looks; quite the opposite as they made his cheekbones more pronounced like some Swedish fashion model, and made those brown eyes seem somehow larger. Chris knew the glasses weren’t for vanity but a necessity; the blow to Stiles’s head—make that many culminating in one doozy of a blow—had caused vision changes as well as debilitating headaches. With the lack of eye contact Chris wondered if the young man was in the throes of a migraine although with as lively of a mind as the young man had, he could just be bored.

As Stiles finished his recitation of the specials, Chris admired the younger man’s soft, husky voice. It was an after effect from his near strangulation but it also had another effect; it made Chris want to shift in place, adjust himself. 

Chris hadn’t felt that zing of desire since, well, he’d last seen Stiles. 

Stiles had always made Chris feel good although he suspected he should be disgusted with his thoughts. He was a good twenty years Stiles’s senior and he was acting like a dirty old man. Stiles, however, was different; he was an old soul in a young man’s body and Chris was captivated by everything about him.

“Hello Stiles.” Chris hadn’t expected his words, or maybe it was the sound of his voice, to cause such a reaction: Face snapping up, Stiles swayed in place, hand reaching out to steady himself on the table.

Stiles stared at Chris, stricken, complexion washing out to a dull gray. “Chris? Why are you here? Is Scott okay?”

Chris was on his feet, hand bracing Stiles’s elbow, without a thought. “Scott is fine. Everyone’s fine. Come on, sit down.” He deposited Stiles on the edge of the bench seat, steadying hand on his shoulder, waiting to see if he’d recover or faint.

Hand clasped to his chest, breaths puffing loudly, eyes scrunched closed…Chris hated to see Stiles in distress like this. 

“Here, take a slug of this.” He pushed his glass into Stiles’s hand and helped guide it to his mouth. One swallow of the amber liquid, a match to Stiles’s own eye color, caused the young man to cough but some color seeped back into his face. Mission accomplished.

Chris and Stiles had bonded, probably from being the only humans in Scott’s pack at the time, but somehow Chris hadn’t foreseen Stiles reacting like this. He should’ve though. Scott was Stiles’s sole family now.

“Excuse me, sir, is everything—Stiles?!” Chris had been so concerned for the pale man in front of him that he hadn’t heard the approaching footsteps. He knew better than to let his guard down, especially when he had someone to protect.

“Hey, Seth. Just give me a minute and I’ll return to the floor.” Stiles’s response was so soft, the decibels so low, Chris doubted the man at his back could hear him well. 

Chris straightened up and turned around. “Hi, I’m Chris. I’m a friend of the family’s.” He shrugged toward Stiles to indicate his relationship before holding his hand out. 

Seth introduced himself as the manager. The man looked perplexed, his gaze searching out Stiles but he gave a firm handshake. 

“Are you okay, Stiles? You’re really pale. I mean more so than usual.” Chris appreciated that other people were looking out for Stiles but a little twinge of something flared in his chest and it wasn’t heartburn. He didn’t want to call it jealousy but he didn’t like the way Seth was staring at Stiles.

“Listen Seth, Stile just got some upsetting news from back home. Is there anyone who could cover the rest of his shift?” Chris ignored the whispered protests coming from behind him as he stared steadily at the manager.

Seth looked at his gold watch, no doubt some expensive yet useless timepiece with too many dials and gadgets, nodding in agreement. “Only two hours until closing so we can handle it from here. And Stiles, just call me in the morning if you can’t work your shift tomorrow night. You’ve got my number.”

 _Yeah, and I’ve got your number, Seth the Manager._ “Thank you so much. I’ll make sure Stiles gets home okay.”

Seth looked like dynamite would be needed to pry him away from Stiles but someone flagged him down and with one last worried look, he left them alone.

“Come on, let’s get you out of here.” Chris didn’t give Stiles a chance to argue, instead grasping him around the biceps and hauling him to his feet. The young man was steady but Chris refused to relinquish his hold.

Stiles traipsed along, not shaking off his grip, which Chris found concerning. The valet fetched his Chevy Suburban and Chris dismissed him with a tip. He waited patiently as Stiles tried boosting himself into the cab. When he failed, either too dizzy or too weak to hoist himself up, Chris settled his hands around the slim waist and settled him inside without a fuss. 

The kid was definitely too light. Although Stiles was no kid—he had filled out, with wide shoulders, a trim waist and muscled ass and legs.

Chris closed the passenger side door and leaned his forehead against the window for a short moment before gathering himself and moving toward the driver’s side. He couldn’t let his feelings, whatever they were, sidetrack him from keeping Stiles safe.

-0-

Stiles would ordinarily feel embarrassed about his inability to get into the cab without help but he was too busy trying to keep his head from falling off his shoulders. Or having a panic attack. Take your pick.

He hasn’t expected to see Chris Argent in the restaurant. He hadn’t expected to see him anywhere. Ever.

Chris had blown out of Beacon Hill six years ago after making quite an impact on Stiles’s life. Not that anyone else was aware of that fact. If Scott thought he was quiet and moody, he blamed it on Stiles grieving for his dad and healing from his injuries, never guessing that Stiles’s heart had been…dented. Certainly not broken. After all, he’d managed to climb out of his depression, brush the dust off and continue on with his goals. The primary goal being helping out Scotty in whatever way he could.

Speaking of Scott, Stiles pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and checked for a voicemail, text, or missed call. Anything. 

Nothing.

Pushing his glasses up to the bridge of his nose, Stiles let out a huff of irritation.

“Why aren’t you returning Scott’s calls?” Chris never sounded judgmental when he talked to Stiles. Whether it was Chris smacking him around to get answers, plotting with him on how to keep everyone safe or taking care of him after the ghost thing gone wrong, Chris had always treated Stiles like a competent adult.

Stiles’s left eye began to pulse. It wasn’t really pain. It was most likely frustration. Or high blood pressure. “I’ve been leaving him messages since last night. I call and it either rings off the hook or goes straight to voicemail. I thought maybe he was mad at me or something.”

Scott had picked up a few tricks on how to get his pack members to fall into line over the years with the silent treatment being one of his favorites when it came to getting Stiles to comply. Scott, Melissa and the pack were his family now and when one of them refused to talk to him, it hurt. Especially Scotty.

“Stiles, Scott asked me to stop here and check on you because he hasn’t been able to reach you. He was worried.” Chris voice was low and rumbly. Stiles tried to ignore how that made him feel, concentrating on the situation instead.

Stiles snorted which made his eye twitch viciously. “Yeah, so worried that he won’t pick up when I call.”

Stabbing Scott’s name on the contact list, Stiles put his cell on speaker. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. _“I’m not here right now, so leave a message! Make it short, make it sweet, or I’ll have to press delete.”_

Ending the call, Stiles dropped his phone into his lap. “Yeah, he’s very worried. I can tell.” 

Stiles’s left hand braced against the dash as his right scrambled for the Jesus handle above the door when Chris abruptly turned into a parking lot. The Chevy coasted to a stop, a contrast to the near whiplash inducing turn, before Chris picked up the iPhone, examining it closely before pushing buttons.

Chris fondled Stiles’s cell phone in his hands while engaging the Bluetooth hands-free mode on his truck. “Call Scott.”

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. _“I’m not here right now, so leave a message! Make it short, make it sweet, or I’ll have to press delete.”_

Chris couldn’t get through to Scott either. Something was wrong.

Stiles could feel the drag in his chest as he worked to pull air into his lungs. “We have to get back to Beacon Hills. Something is wrong.” He’d be shouting if he could only catch his breath.

Chris put the phone back in Stiles’s hand, squeezing Stiles’s thigh with his large, scarred hand. “I don’t know what’s going on but I think you’re right, we need to head back to Scott.”

Just like that Stiles’s anxiety lessoned. Scott and the pack might still be in danger, and this was a bad thing, but Chris wasn’t telling Stiles to relax or stop worrying. He was taking this threat seriously. That’s all Stiles really wanted—not to be marginalized. Well maybe he wanted some other things but he’d adjusted his wish list when he realized Chris Argent didn’t see him as a possible romantic interest. 

Leaning his head against the window, Stiles hoped the cool glass would ease his headache.

“Do you need something for your migraine?” Chris asked softly. 

Stiles could deny he was in pain but he’d only be hurting himself. “I don’t have it on me. I’d rather just head for Beacon Hills.”

“And I’d rather not watch you in pain. Especially when you have something that will help. Why don’t you have any on you?” Chris continued probing.

His left eye pulsed in pain again and Stiles ground the heel of his palm into it. Sometimes adding a little pressure helped, or at least the cessation of it did. “I keep some meds in my locker at work. Didn’t have a chance to grab them.”

“Oh.” At least Chris couldn’t accuse him of being ill prepared although his almost non-response left Stiles feeling nonplussed. 

Chris put the SUV in gear and they merged back into traffic. Stiles closed his eyes, breathing slowly and deeply, trying to keep the nausea at bay.

His breathing technique might have worked a little better than he planned as cool air ghosted over his face. “Come on, Stiles. Let’s get your meds and give them a chance to work and then we’ll head out. Scott was fine the last time I talked to him, about four hours ago.”

Hands gripped his waist, lifting him bodily out of the SUV. Stiles was having difficulty shaking off the dregs of sleep and stumbled against the immovable object that was Chris’s firmly muscled chest. This time an arm wrapped around his back, hugging him close.

“Steady now. Can you walk or do you need me to carry you?” The growly voice tickled in his ear, making him shiver. “Okay, carrying it is. Where’s your apartment key?”

Stiles wanted nothing more than to sink into Chris’s arms but he hated giving in to the weakness of his body. He made himself shove back, forcing his legs to stabilize and hold him up. “I’m okay.” He dug in his pocket and withdrew his key ring, handing it over. “Here.”

Chris didn’t say anything, he just slung his arm around Stiles’s shoulders and guided him down the sidewalk and into his apartment complex. Stiles might have closed his eyes, resting his head against Chris’s shoulder, stumbling along because he didn’t remember arriving in his apartment. He’d classify this migraine as a 9 on a scale of 10. They were sneaky little bastards that sometimes crept up on him and he was going to have to take the meds he hated and sleep some of this off before he’d be fit for travel.

“Stiles, what’s the highest dosage you can take?”

The voice startled him from his drowse. “Two. But I usually start with—mmph!”

Two of his dissolvable tablets were stuffed in his mouth and he couldn’t spit them out as they were almost completely melted, having activated as soon as they hit the saliva on his tongue. 

“Come on, climb into your sleepwear and take a nap. When you wake up we’ll hit the road, find out what’s going on.” Chris cajoled as he handed Stiles his soft cotton light gray yoga pants and almost threadbare white V-neck tee that had been bundled under his pillow.

The pain still radiated from the top of his head, down his neck and into his jaw, but the meds were making him not care. He clumsily shucked out of his work clothing and into his comfy ones.

A warm hand smoothed the hair from his face as he settled on to his pillow. “I’m going to get my bag, I’ll be right back.”

Stiles drifted off, feeling safe for the first time since he’d been at Scott’s over the last holiday.

-0-

Chris needed some air. He checked to make sure no one was hanging around the building as he exited, making quick work of grabbing the bag that held some extra weapons, a change of clothing and some toiletries. 

He returned to Stiles’s apartment without incident, checking the perimeter before stopping by the futon folded out in the corner of the studio apartment. Stiles seemed to be sleeping peacefully so Chris went to the bathroom, making use of the amenities to splash some of the road from his face and brush his teeth.

When he stepped out of the bathroom he heard Stiles’s gasp and then he heaved in a full body jerk. 

Night terrors.

Chris kneeled on the mattress, gently rubbing Stiles’s tense shoulder. “It’s okay, Stiles. Just try to go back to sleep.”

Stiles clasped Chris’s wrist loosely. “Do you think you could lay down with me? At least until I fall asleep again?” The younger man’s voice was extra husky with exhaustion and Chris couldn’t say no. He remembered when Stiles had been healing after the head injury, he’d always rested better when someone he trusted was with him.

Stripping off his pants and button-down shirt, Chris slid behind Stiles in just his boxer briefs and t-shirt. He threw his arm around Stiles’s middle but made sure to keep some distance between their bodies.

Stiles settled right down and was soon breathing evenly. Chris thought about slipping out of the bed but decided to catch a few minutes of sleep instead.

“If you can’t keep your hands to yourself, I’m going to tie them up too.” Chris peered up at Stiles from where he knelt in front of him, admiring the flush of color spreading over his pale cheekbones. Apparently the younger man wasn’t opposed to being further restrained.

“What exactly are you doing?” Stiles asked with that low raspy voice that made Chris’s cock stir.

“Before we try out Shibari I thought we’d start with a simple crotchrope. There’s a catch though,” Chris teased, watching with hungry eyes as Stiles caught his lower lip between his teeth and worried it.

“What’s the catch?” Stiles asked, licking his lips. Chris wanted to do many, many things with those lips and that mouth.

“Ever heard of e-Stim?” Chris asked as he uncoiled some rope, tipping his head back when he heard Stiles gasp.

The pretty brown of Stiles’s eyes was almost completely eaten up by the black of his pupils. “I…yeah. That sounds fantastic. But what about you?”

“Don’t worry, I’m going to get my rocks off just by controlling what happens to your body.” Chris enjoyed the way Stiles shivered.

Chris’s fingers manipulated the e-Stim pad, slipping it beneath the layer of Stiles’s yoga pants and boxer briefs, affixing it to the base of the already excited cock by touch only. He had to do it by touch—it he looked he’d have Stiles stripped out of the clothing and panting beneath him and he really, really wanted to try this.

Stiles fisted the material covering Chris’s shoulders as he stood before him, legs spread at shoulder’s width, as if he was in fear of losing his balance.

Chris paused his uncoiling of the rope to check on his partner. “You doing okay?”

Stiles sank his teeth back into his lower lip, nodding silently.

Threading the rope around Stiles’s trim waist, he crossed it in the middle before tugging in down and splitting both cords to frame the bulging package in front of him. With a firm tug he pulled both ends back between firm butt cheeks. With no discernable rhyme or reason, Chris continued to wrap the thin rope around the cock and balls, around the thighs and almost dainty waist.

Chris stopped when he was panting for breath, tying off the ends at one hip. Rising to his feet, Chris fought some mild dizziness; he wasn’t surprised as most of his blood seemed to have pooled between his own legs.

Standing eye to eye, Chris swept his gaze over the younger man. Stiles hands still clutched at Chris’s shoulders and he leaned closer, lips parts, pupils blown.

Removing Stiles’s hands slowly, admiring the flushed skin and heaving breaths, Chris quickly spun around so he was standing directly behind Stiles. He wrapped his left arm around Stiles’s middle, trapping his partner’s arms beneath his grip. His right hand reached around and cupped the obscene swell of flesh, kneading it. 

Stiles’s hips jerked with each stroke, thrusting back into Chris’s erection.

“Raise your arms and clasp your hands behind my neck,” Chris growled, needing both hands free.

The younger man groaned but did Chris’s bidding without hesitation. Satisfaction that Stiles would submit to his orders made Chris grind his cock between Stiles’s spread legs with an extra snap of his hips, his oversensitive flesh scraping over the twisted rope binding his lover.

Chris’s fingers pinched the swollen nubs of flesh on Stiles’s chest ruthlessly before sliding down his ribs. His palms smoothed across the bite of rope, pressing and then tugging, earning a gasp from Stiles’s parted lips.

At last his hands inched down until they cupped and squeezed tight balls. Chris caressed the whole package with stronger and deeper strokes. 

The controls to the e-Stim miraculously appeared in his hand and he used it to both press into the bulge crossed and contained with ropes and also hit the button, sending shocks of pleasure dancing through Stiles.

“Please, don’t stop. I haven’t gotten off in six months,” Stiles moaned.

Chris huffed in Stiles’s ear, trying to catch up with the proceedings. He’d been having the most erotic dream of his life and now he was rubbing himself off against Stiles’s sweet ass only it wasn’t a dream.

It. Wasn’t. A. Dream.

Holy crap.

“Stiles, we can’t—” Chris was cut off with a frustrated groan from Stiles.

“Damn it, yes we can,” Stiles’s hips bucked into Chris’s grip and Chris realized his hands had mimicked his dream, threading around Stiles’s torso to grip and kneed his swollen length and full balls. It was almost more than his hands could contain and Chris gave in to the sensation.

It was easy to locate the slit in Stiles’s cock even through his sleep pants; it was damp and Chris dug his index finger into that area with no gentleness whatsoever, reveling in the grinding and moans his touch elicited.

Stiles’s body gave one final jerk, his body tensing all over as he shifted and rubbed against Chris’s body. When the tension released, Chris hauled Stiles backward until there wasn’t a lick of space between them, his cock angling between parted legs. 

“Come on, Chris. Come!” Stiles was egging him on, his voice low and breathy.

Chris couldn’t quite get the angle he wanted, so he flipped them over, Stiles’s stomach now flush to the mattress and Chris lying completely on top of him. With a loud grunt and two snaps of his hips, Chris found his release against Stiles’s taint.

Both men groaned and shuddered.

“I was just going to close my eyes for a moment,” Chris started to explain, his voice much louder in the quiet of the apartment than he’d expected.

Chris could hear the smile in Stiles’s voice as he replied, “I have to say I heartily approve of how you close your eyes. You’ll be happy to know I now have anecdotal proof that orgasms do help with migraine pain.”

“Stiles, I—”

Chris was interrupted as Stiles violently heaved himself off the side of the futon. “So help me, Chris, if you say you’re sorry about what just happened then you can just go ahead and return to whatever rock you’ve been hiding yourself under for the last six years.” The younger man’s voice was strangled sounding and he kept his back to Chris.

“But,” Chris paused, trying to find a way to explain that he’d taken advantage of Stiles’s vulnerable state without doing more damage.

The bathroom door slammed shut, the noise echoing around the apartment, cutting of further discussion. The acoustics were horrible in the studio and Chris wondered how Stiles got any studying done in here.

Chris would have to take a quick shower after Stiles; the mess in his shorts was too uncomfortable to stay in for long. He checked the bag, making sure he had another pair of clean boxers, before heading to the kitchen counter to make some coffee. Stiles had one of those Keurig single serve machines that Chris really didn’t care for but something told him he’d want some caffeine in his system before they headed for Beacon Hills.

-0-

“I should’ve known that wasn’t planned. Normally Chris wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot pool unless I’m hurt. I must’ve been delusional to think he’d finally see me as an adult,” Stiles muttered to himself as he powered through his shower routine as quickly as possible.

Unfortunately be wasn’t being very speedy as he dropped his washcloth for the third time, which set off another round of grumbling, “That’s just great. Now I’ve got a case of dropsies.”

Leaning over to retrieve it, dizziness washed through Stiles. He stood up carefully, bracing his hand against the wall of the shower. The positive effects of the mind-blowing orgasm were fading quickly, leaving Stiles off balance and dull-witted. Just what he needed while being cooped up in a vehicle with the object of his affections.

Ugh.

Soap finally rinsed, Stiles cut the water and ruthlessly dried off. After wrapping the towel around his waist he brushed his teeth with extra gusto as he squinted at the mirror. Without his glasses he could only make out dark hair sticking up all over the place and bright colored lips. Lydia said women paid a fortune in lipstick to get that exact shade but it somehow made Stiles feel feminine.

He wasn’t a small guy yet Stiles found himself pushed around, or hit on, by many of the guys he met. He’d once asked Scotty why that was and his best friend had hemmed and hawed before finally spitting out that Stiles had an air of fragility about him. When pushed for more details Scott had stammered something about his glasses, and small waist—things Stiles really couldn’t control unless he had surgery and gained about 50 pounds. Stiles had cocked an eyebrow at Scott who had quickly folded, tacking on it had something to do with his mouth.

His pink-lipped cock-sucking mouth. 

The irony wasn’t lost on Stiles—he wanted to suck cock but he was particular.

The one person Stiles wanted to get close to, the one he wouldn’t mind getting pushed around by, was the one person who treated him unfailingly with kid gloves. That is when that person was even around. Stiles never would’ve predicted that he liked guys more than chicks and not only that, being the submissive partner really got his motor running. He didn’t want to be seen as weak but a guy with large hands who could manhandle him into whatever position he wanted him in…

Ugh.

After rinsing the foam from his mouth, Stiles yanked on his clothing. He snatched his glasses from the counter and jammed them onto his nose.

His stupid mud colored eyes blinked back at him. 

As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t stay in the bathroom forever. He sailed out of the bathroom, easily finding Chris by the kitchen counter, sipping coffee. “Bathroom’s all yours.”

“I should be just a few minutes and then we can head out,” Chris commented as he grabbed his bag and entered the bathroom.

Stiles tidied his apartment, washing the coffee cup and straightening the futon. He ignored the way the back of his head twinged when he leaned forward to grab his Go-Bag, a navy backpack, from under the futon, colors swirling playfully in his line of sight. He patted the front section of the backpack to make sure his weapon of choice was in place. 

The water in the shower cut out as Stiles shoved extra medicine into the pack. He had more clothing at Ms. McCall’s if he ended up staying longer than a few days.

Grabbing his cell phone, Stiles tried Scott again. It rang and rang and rang. He didn’t even get his voicemail message this time. He stared balefully at the device; it looked like he was going to be stuck with Chris for the next little bit. Tucking the cell phone into his backpack, Stiles zipped it up.

Chris cleared his throat. “Ready to go?”

Stiles just nodded his agreement as he found his keys, motioning Chris to precede him out of the door before locking it up. 

Silence reigned as they left the apartment building. This time Chris kept his distance. Stiles opened his own door and was able to hoist his ass into the seat without help. 

Normally by this time Stiles would’ve been talking Chris’s ear off about school or something he’d read or seen, or asking Chris what he’d been doing. Stiles ignored that impulse and instead settled back in the seat, ready to endure the torture of sitting next to Chris yet knowing the man didn’t like him. At least not like Stiles wanted to be liked.

Once Chris got on the highway, the miles blurred together. Migraine back in full force, Stiles leaned his head against the passenger side window and willed himself to fall asleep.

“Shit.”

Stiles jerked upright as Chris swore. The Chevy swerved violently and then Stiles felt the stomach sinking sensation achieved when a roller coaster crested a hill. 

They collided with something big. Something supernatural. 

His head connected with something, hard, shutting out the noise of glass shattering and the metal frame buckling. 

-0-

Chris’s whole body hurt.

_Thwap._

His head collided with something that felt similar to a rock as his shoulder pulled uncomfortably.

Chris cracked his eyes open and had to close them again when nausea threatened to bring up his bourbon and coffee, the only things he’d ingested in hours.

“There, there, we’re almost to my place. I’ll take good care of you, honey,” a feminine voice sing-songed.

He recognized that voice.

His sister, Kate.

There was no way in hell Kate would speak to him like that which meant Kate was speaking to Stiles.

Bracing himself against the pain and nausea he suspected would accompany his actions, Chris opened his eyes again.

The scenery was moving by slowly, bushes and trees…ouch!...and those were stones digging into the back of his head, back and legs.

Tilting his head back, Chris made out the slim shape of his sister’s back although she had a Stiles’s shaped body draped over a shoulder.

Chris was being dragged along by one arm by Kate who was also carrying an unconscious Stiles.

Things were fuzzy but Chris tried to remember how he’d ended up like this.

Something had darted out in front of them while they were returning to Beacon Hills; that something had resembled a mountain cat.

More likely a werejaguar by the name of Kate.

What Chris couldn’t figure out is how Kate had known they’d be on that stretch of road and what she wanted with them.

“I know you’re awake, brother ‘o mine,” Kate declared.

So much for playing possum.

“Kate. What the hell are you doing?” Chris asked; he’d wanted his question to sound demanding but even to his own ears, he sounded resigned. He was trying to figure out how to get away from Kate, and more importantly, get Stiles away from her. At the moment he was too dizzy to do much. He’d have to bide his time and wait for a better opportunity.

“Well, Chris, I’m taking back Beacon Hills but I need the power of a spark. Sparky here will do just fine,” Kate responded, patting Stiles’s ass condescendingly.

“Jesus, Kate, you’re harming innocent kids now?” Chris spit out in disgust. Although he supposed he was being naïve; Kate had hurt the teen-aged Derek, setting in motion every bad thing that happened to the Argents, at least in Chris’s opinion.

“Oh, Stiles here hangs with a pack, I hardly think that qualifies him as innocent,” Kate sniped back.

Once Kate had something in her head, it was near impossible to change her mind.

“Home, sweet home. It ain’t much but it will have to do,” Kate announced.

Before Chris could mount an offensive, or every defend himself, Kate had settled Stiles on the ground and was shackling Chris’s arms overhead so that both shoulders now strained with pain instead of just the one she’d been trying to wrench out of its socket as she dragged him along.

Par for the course. Only now he couldn’t defend Stiles’s position.

Things became very tense as Kate ran her hands up and down Stiles’s lax body. They lingered at the slight bulge in his front pocket. She fished out the object, an inhaler, looking it over carefully. Shrugging her shoulders, she tucked it back in the pocket.

When those fingers got a little too personal with his anatomy, Chris barked out an exasperated, “Kate!”.

His sister snorted. “Relax, Chris. I’m just making sure he doesn’t have any weapons on him. You might think Stiles is defenseless but I’ve got news for you, he’s a super-charged energy source and I’m not letting this opportunity slip away from me. I mean I had to work with a warlock to pull it off and you know how I hate those.”

Chris knew if he kept quiet, Kate would share more of her plan. That was something both Kate and their father had in common…the inability to exist in silence.

Instead of shackling Stiles like she had Chris, Kate retrieved some rope and tied Stiles’s hands in front of him before tying his ankles together. It was very uncharacteristic of his sister to go easy on anyone although Chris had always suspected Kate had a soft spot for Stiles.

“I have to hand it to the warlock, the little spell he whipped up kept Stiles and his True Alpha incommunicado. I thought for sure little Scott McCall would ask one of his second rate betas to come check on Stiles. It never occurred to me that you’d be his knight in shining armor. Huh.”

Kate stared searchingly at Chris, her index finger tapping her chin, lips pursed in thought.

Stiles groaned, interrupting the flow of information and the staring contest. 

The younger man shifted on the hard ground of the…Chris looked around; it looked like they were in a cave, which Chris supposed made sense since jaguars preferred thickets or caves for their dens and Kate was demonstrating decidedly jaguar-like characteristics as she paced at the mouth of the cave, scratching marks into the wall with her clawed hands, protecting her territory.

A high-pitched whine emitted from the supine young man and Kate threw back her head and roared out her unhappiness at the noise.

Stiles cringed away from the startling racket, trying to roll to his side. When this proved too much effort, the young man took his bound hands and struck himself in the forehead.

“Stiles, please,” Chris entreated.

“Stop it, Stiles!” Kate commanded as she kneeled next to him, grabbing his hands and pulling them away from his body and toward her own.

“Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop,” Stiles chanted. Chris could see Stiles kept his eyes tightly closed and he wondered if Stiles was suffering some sort of hallucinations from yet another blow to his head.

“What’s he doing?” Kate turned to Chris, baffled. Her face morphed between the spotted werejaguar and his own sister’s ugly mug.

“Stiles has a history of severe head injuries and your little stunt probably caused him even more damage. You didn’t happen to grab his bag by chance, did you? He should have some medicine in it that would help,” Chris explained, keeping his tone civil.

It was a stretch because Chris really wanted to pound Kate’s face in; first he needed to get loose.

Kate huffed her frustration. “Of course I didn’t grab his bag.” She touched Stiles’s face with her hand—her human hand—and two things happened simultaneously.

Stiles arched off the ground as though electrocuted and Kate fell back on her ass, shaking her hand out.

“What the hell?” his sister muttered, looking her hand over closely. “He zapped me!”

Chris didn’t think Stiles had done it on purpose as he was sprawled in an uncomfortable heap, features, lax, unconscious again. Chris had been aware of Stiles’s status as a spark but up until now that hadn’t really manifested in anything other than the ability to handle Mountain Ash.

“Oh, I liked that,” Kate muttered quietly. “It was like taking that first hit from a bong.”

His sister reached out, petting Stile’s silky strands from his face, cupping his cheek and cooing at him.

It was frankly disturbing watching his sister pet the unconscious young man.

Chris’s young man.

“So very pretty…you’re mine now…I’m going to take care of you, honey…”

“Kate,” Chris called quietly. He needed to interrupt whatever the hell his sister was doing but he didn’t want to incite her to violence. Not when Stiles was in such a vulnerable position.

Kate bared her teeth at Chris, her werejaguar face appearing fully. “He’s mine, Christopher. Mine!”

_Oh boy._

“Sure, Kate. It’s just I don’t think Stiles is feeling very good at the moment and you might be able to help him. Do you think you could drain some of his pain?” Chris suggested.

Cocking her head to the side, deep in thought, Kate nodded her head. “Mine to take care of.”

Clawed hands were set gently on Stiles’s face again, the claws retracting until human hands remained. “Pull the pretty’s pain.”

It seems to Chris as though Kate was channeling her inner Gollum, substituting _pretty_ precious. Chris could only hope Stiles remained unconscious for this spectacle.

Of course because Stiles’s was contrary, he flickered into awareness, batting at Kate’s touch with his bound hands.

Kate did not take kindly to the young man’s antics and she squeezed Stiles’s face between her hands until he sobbed out his pain.

Quieting him with her intimidating touch, Kate soaked up the pain until black swirls coated both hands and arms.

Eventually she pushed away, collapsing on her ass, leaning her weight on her forearms braced behind her. “Pheww. That’s some serious pain.”

At least she wasn’t imitating Gollum anymore.

Chris’s body made itself known, the damaged areas throbbing in time with his heartbeat. He wished his sister would pull some of his pain, or better yet, set them free, but he knew better than to ask.

Once that round of dizziness had passed, Chris realized Kate was still sprawled on her back. Apparently stealing Stiles’s pain had knocked her for a loop.

An idea began to form but he needed Stiles awake for it to work.

-0-

Stiles jolted into awareness as the pain swirled away.

When the hands left his face, the pain made a return with a steady thump-thump through his temples and his neck.

“Kate, do you think you could go back to the vehicle and get Stiles’s medicine? It’s in a navy backpack.” Chris’s plea would’ve probably met more success if he hadn’t tacked on, “Please, Kate, you’re going to harm yourself if you keep pulling the pain like that.”

The funny thing was Chris was probably telling the truth. Kate was still his sister and despite all of the evil things she had done, they had grown up together. Chris wouldn’t want to see her hurting. 

“Really,” Kate drawled. “What exactly is in it for you?” Suspicion deeply colored her question.

It was time for Stiles to act. He wasn’t sure what the plan was, he just knew Chris had one.

Flopping his hand out next to his body, reaching, Stiles beseeched Kate in a breathy, needy voice. “Kate, please…help me.”

Hoping Kate caved to his vulnerability although not really understanding why she would, Stiles hoped Chris didn’t buy into his little-boy-lost routine. It was bad enough Stiles was weak, he didn’t need the other man witnessing it even if Stiles was playing it up.

“Oh, pretty, I can’t pull anymore pain from you at the moment,” Kate patted his outstretched hand gently.

_Pretty? What the fuck?!_

Stiles didn’t have to fake the whimper that escaped his lips; the pain was making it difficult for him to think clearly but at least he was able to think.

Chris kept silent and Stiles let the tears slip out of his eyes to coat his cheeks.

Kate blew out a breath. “Fine. I’ll see if I can get the medication but when I return it’s time to power up.”

Stiles heard her moving around but he couldn’t quite find the energy needed to open his eyes.

“Stiles, are you awake?” Chris called out softly.

So much for resting. It was show time.

Stiles wriggled and rolled, groaning at both the effort required to move and how his bruised body colliding repeatedly with the hard packed earth made other parts of his body hurt almost as much as his head.

Going by sounds instead of sight, Stiles was surprised when he smacked into something solid.

His eyes snapped open and Chris’s thigh came into focus.

Mission accomplished.

“Stiles? You okay?” Chris’s deep voice asked quietly.

“I’m fine.” It was a blatant lie but there wasn’t anything Chris could do for him.

Stiles, however, could do something.

Wriggling a hand into his pocket despite his hands being tied together Stiles withdrew the inhaler; it served two purposes although he hadn’t needed to carry it for Scott in years. Flipping the cap off he removed a tool—his favorite little lockpick—hidden in the plastic tube. 

Levering himself upright was nearly impossible and his head spun so bad he thought he was going to be violently ill. Stiles promised himself he could get sick later. Preferably when he wasn’t leaning over Chris’s lap.

Joints he didn’t even know were hurt throbbed as he reached up to pick the locks on the manacles encircling Chris’s wrists. He had to do it mainly by touch and sound since without his glasses, his eyesight was crap. “Don’t,” Stiles had to pause and swallow back bile, “let go of the chains.”

“I have to get you out of here before Kate returns,” Chris hissed.

Stiles would’ve rolled his eyes if he wasn’t so dizzy. “Yeah. No. She’d just track us down. I think I have a way to weaken her and when that happens, you’re going to use the element of surprise to incapacitate her. Got it?” Stiles swallowed convulsively, ordering his stomach to settle. He worked at getting the tool back into the inhaler and the inhaler into his pocket and that exhausted all of his reserves.

The dizziness was turning into something less manageable as dark splotches crept over Stiles’s vision. “Gonna rest for a minute,” he whispered before everything faded.

-0-

Stiles swooned after announcing he was going to rest for a minute. One moment he was upright albeit listing to the side and the next he had plummeted downward, Chris’s thigh barely cushioning the back of his head.

Chris was torn. He wanted to throw off his restraints now that they were undone and get Stiles the hell out of here but the younger man had a point; Kate would just track them down.

The plan to incapacitate Kate when she was weak was solid although Chris wondered how Stiles was going to accomplish that, especially when he was unconscious. More pain draining?

Kate appeared in the mouth of the cave, soundlessly. 

Chris wrapped his fingers around the chains, hiding the fact the locks had been picked. As long as he held this position, Kate wouldn’t be able to see he was loose.

Unfortunately they couldn’t hide the fact that Stiles had rolled across the floor and fainted on top of Chris’s lap.

“Damn it, Stiles, do I have to chain you up too?” Kate grumbled as she stalked across the cave. The lighting was dim in the enclosed space, and becoming dimmer by the moment, but Chris could see the werejaguar’s features were prominently displayed. 

The way Kate seized Stiles’s shoulders and shook him, it was apparent she thought he was conscious.

His head lolled awkwardly, cracking against the ground loudly, making even Kate wince. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she cooed. Snapping her attention to Chris, she demanded, “How does his medicine work?”

“I’ve seen him take one tablet at a time and it dissolves in his mouth,” Chris answered in an even tone. He didn’t want to say or do anything that jeopardized the injured young man sprawled across the ground. “It should be in the back compartment.”

The front compartment should hold something else, something Chris would rather his sister didn’t find just now.

Kate became frustrated as she dug through the backpack, yanking out jeans and socks until she came to plastic tub. She crushed it in her hand in her rush to get it opened and a strip of bubble packed white discs fell out.

“What do I do?” Kate blinked over at Chris, sounding panicked. 

“Peel back a square and pop the disc in his mouth,” Chris coaxed. He was pretty sure one dose was going to be useless in combatting the pain since a migraine was probably the least of Stiles’s problems at the moment.

Traumatic Brain Injury? A hemorrhagic stroke?

His sister was muttering under her breath as she worked to pop open the packaging. At last she succeeded and she was so very gentle as she opened Stiles’s mouth and placed the medicine on his tongue; it reminded Chris of when Allison was a baby and Kate used to babysit her. Kate might have been a monster hidden by a pretty façade but she also had her human side that she only displayed with her niece.

Thoughts of his dead daughter disappeared from Chris’s thoughts as Stiles began convulsing. 

“No!” Kate snapped her attention away from the unconscious body to stare down Chris. “I thought you said the medicine would help him!”

“Well, Kate, that was before you gave him another concussion. Can you try draining some more pain?” he suggested. 

This was the unspoken plan they’d both hatched, at least Chris was pretty sure this was it. The pain drain would weaken his sister and then despite being family, Chris would take her out.

Kate cupped her hands around Stiles’s face again and the black swirls began to dance up her arms. 

Stiles was thrashing from side to side, a foamy substance dribbling from the corner of his mouth. If he didn’t come out of the seizure in thirty seconds, Chris was going to throw off the chains and blow the plan.

He had to save Stiles.

The writhing tapered off until only slight tremors were left snaking through Stiles’s slim body.

Kate was visibly drooping. As soon as her weight collapsed backward, Chris would pounce.

Chris was afraid Kate would withdraw her touch but every time she flexed her fingers as if to remove them, Stiles made a sad little sound of distress and she stayed put.

Maybe five minutes passed before Kate slumped to the ground, sprawled on her back. Her chest was heaving up and down and she draped a forearm over her brow. “Damn, that was intense.”

Not wanting to give her any time to gather her strength, Chris dropped the chains and crab-walked across the ground until he snagged the backpack from the ground. He didn’t even have to look as he unzipped the front compartment and withdrew the 80-pound mini crossbow.

Chris had trained Stiles on how to use the mini crossbow and he’d also taught him how to put together his Go-Bag, with the inclusion of the handy little weapon.

One moment Chris was flinging the backpack to the side and the next he was kneeling over his sister, the tip of the arrow pressed to her heart. Chris disengaged the safety mechanism without looking, staring deeply into the slitted cat pupils of Kate’s eyes.

“Really, Chris, you don’t have the balls to kill me,” Kate growled.

Stiles whimpered and that’s all it took.

His index finger squeezed the trigger without thought.

The wolfsbane tipped arrow did the rest of the work.

Pushing off of the heaving body, Chris couldn’t work up any remorse.

He’d just killed his sister.

The sister who, by the sounds of it, was going to suck Stiles’s spark dry and then use the power to take over Beacon Hills.

Black goop was pouring from Kate’s chest, mouth and nose. The gurgling noises were hard to stomach but Chris moved his attention away from the werejaguar’s (that wasn’t Kate—he couldn’t think about her now) death throes to the injured man.

Stiles was curled on his side, breathing ragged, still unconscious.

Chris checked Stiles’s vitals and everything was steady. He carefully thumbed back an eyelid and the pupil expanded to accommodate the dark cave. He followed the same protocol with the other eye and was dismayed to see a constricted pupil; in this dim lighting the pupil should’ve enlarged. 

Crap.

Reaching over, Chris pawed through Stiles’s backpack, hoping he would find…yep, there it was. Stiles’s cell phone. 

Straightening with effort, Chris wobbled over to the mouth of the cave and hit Scott’s number. He was banking on the spell having ended with the demise of Kate.

“Stiles! Where the hell have you been?” Scott snapped. The young man was usually calm and cordial; his tone was a testament to his worry.

“Scott, it’s Chris. Kate attacked us and rolled my vehicle. Stiles has a head injury. Kate has been neutralized.” Chris relayed the information as concisely as he could despite wanting to puke. He wasn’t feeling so great himself but the priority was getting Stiles medical attention.

“Crap,” Scott bit out quietly. Chris could hear him talking to someone else on his end and he paced impatiently, waiting to hear the extraction plan.

“Okay, we’ve got a lock on your position. We were already heading your way so we should be there in about fifteen minutes,” Scott relayed calmly. 

“Hurry,” Chris suggested before they both said brief goodbyes.

Hurrying back to Stiles, Chris collapsed to his knees.

He’d never been one for prayer, but Chris found himself asking the greater power to save the young man lying so still on the ground.

The feelings Chris had for Stiles began to crystalize. 

-0-

Stiles heard the obnoxious beeping in his ear and wanted to swat it away. Unfortunately his hands wouldn’t move.

Groaning his frustration, Stiles jolted when someone touched his face.

“Shhh. You’re in the hospital. You’re going to be okay.”

Chris.

Chris was here.

Stiles cracked an eyelid open and groaned, this time in pain, as bright light assaulted his vision.

Another voice spoke from close by. Scott. “Should I drain his pain?”

“You’d better get your mom, let her know he’s awake. They’ll probably want to do some tests before we can give him anything for the pain,” Chris said in that low, gravelly voice that drove Stiles crazy.

Soft fingers smoothed his cheeks. “Hey, hey, please don’t cry baby.”

Who was crying?

Salty liquid trickled into the corner of his mouth.

Oh, he was crying. Although if Chris continued to call him baby in that rough voice of his, Stiles would do just about anything. Including crying.

It took more effort than it should’ve but Stiles finally got both eyes open.

A very bruised Chris was leaning over him, shaky smile on his face, blue eyes flooded with moisture.

It looked like Stiles wasn’t the only crybaby in the room.

Stiles noticed the sling holding Chris’s arm immobile.

“You’re hurt?” Stiles was shooting for that to come out as a statement but it emerged as a question. His voice was cracked and soft and he was surprised Chris could even hear him. 

“We both got lucky,” Chris said, his hands still on Stiles’s face, cupping it gently.

Lucky? An immobilized arm and a heart monitor was lucky?

What the hell had happened?

Stiles flinched.

He remembered not being able to get in touch with Scott. Chris surprising him at work. Waking up with Chris in his bed. 

The car rolling over. 

Kate in the cave.

“Easy, easy. Kate is dead,” Chris told him, seemingly reading his mind.

“What happened?” Stiles tried to ask but it came out slurred.

A nurse bustled into the room and that was the last moment’s peace Stiles had until he woke up the next day.

-0-

Chris had been convinced Stiles had an undiagnosed bleed when the young man had woken up and started slurring his words.

Apparently concussions and exhaustion could make a person slur but Chris thought he could be forgiven his worst-case scenario thoughts after Stiles’s history.

“Hey,” Stiles whispered with that hoarse voice that made Chris want to pick him up, carry him away and take care of him. Or have kinky sex.

Sex would have to wait until they both felt better. Assuming Stiles was interested in Chris.

It was amazing how a little life-and-death situation could bring everything into focus.

“What’s wrong?” Stiles asked. His fingers began to knead the sheet anxiously. 

Chris had forgotten to respond to Stiles’s greeting and the younger man had misconstrued his quietude for a problem.

“Nothing is wrong,” Chris responded, a huge smile breaking out over his face.

Stiles seemed dubious of his smile. “You’re freaking me out, Chris.”

Clearing his throat nervously, Chris took a hold of Stiles’s hand. “I realized something and I think you feel the same way but I need to know. I thought I’d lost you and that I’d never have the chance to tell you,” Chris swallowed convulsively, suddenly nervous, “tell you how much you mean to me. That I’d like for us to pursue a relationship. That is if you want one.”

Jerked his hand out of Chris’s grip, Stiles batted at him. “Really, Chris?”

Oh.

Chris had been mistaken—Stiles didn’t have feelings for him.

Huffing impatiently, Stiles latched on to Chris’s hand with those impossibly long fingers of his. “You decide while I’m bedridden is the time to make a declaration like that, when I can’t do anything about it?”

Oh!

Stiles reeled him in, tugging gently on Chris’s hand. Chris lowered his face, on the verge of pressing a soft kiss to those pink, chapped lips when Stiles lunged upward.

“Ouch!” Stiles collapsed back against his pillow, face scrunched with pain.

“You need a keeper, Stiles,” Chris murmured as he leaned back down once again, this time connecting with his target.

The kiss was sweet and chaste and everything Chris wanted in the beginning of a relationship with the precious young man lying on the bed.

“Are you applying for the position?” Stiles purred with that sexy voice.

Chris probably looked very smug. Lord knows he felt smug at the moment. “Just try to give it to someone else,” Chris answered before kissing Stiles again.

“Finally,” Stiles sighed. 

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t have some concerns regarding a May-December romance but Chris’s heart was fully engaged and he was going to give this relationship with Stiles everything—attention, energy, dedication—he had.

That meant sticking around. He and Stiles would be the lone humans in the pack again but Chris thought he could make it work.

Stiles was definitely worth the effort.

Finis

**Author's Note:**

> This fills the prompt 'medication' for Round 7 of Hurt/Comfort Bingo. If you guessed I suffer from migraines you would be correct. I'm happy to say I've never suffered a Traumatic Brain Injury or throat injury by strangling though. 
> 
> I haven't been able to kill the poor Sheriff in a fic yet but I think having it happen years prior to this story is my way of working up to it.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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